The first grand chief, or sachem, of the Mohicans known to the English, was called Uncas: he was a crafty and ambitious chieftain, brave and cunning in war, and cruel to his conquered enemies. He was always a firm friend to the English, probably because he saw that it was for his interest to be so; for he was generally at war with the Six Nations on the north, and the Narragansets, a numerous warlike people on the east, who inhabited the country now called the state of Rhode Island.
In one of these wars, Miantonimo, the Narraganset chief, suddenly invaded the country of the Mohicans, with eight hundred of his bravest warriors, giving Uncas only time to collect about half that number to meet him. He saw that if he should attempt to oppose him by main force, he should certainly be beaten; he therefore resolved to attempt a stratagem.
When the two armies had approached near each other, ordering his warriors to conceal themselves in the long grass, he advanced before them, and challenged his adversary to single combat, saying that it was a great pity that so many brave men should be killed, merely to decide a private quarrel. But Miantonimo knew well that he had the advantage in numbers, and he was resolved not to lose it. “My warriors,” said the fierce chieftain, “have come a long way to fight, and they shall fight.”
Uncas had expected this answer, and instantly fell flat to the ground. His men, rising, poured on their enemies a volley of arrows, rushed on them with a hideous yell, and soon put them to flight. Miantonimo was taken prisoner; he scorned to beg his life of his victorious enemy, and was put to death, but without cruelty, on account of the request of the English.
After the death of Uncas, which happened about the year 1680, his tribe gradually dwindled away, under their continual wars with the whites, and the other Indians, and their own evil passions, until the feeble remnant of a once powerful people was compelled to abandon their ancient hunting-grounds, and flee for protection to their grandfather, the Delawares, now almost as wretched and powerless as themselves; some even joined their old enemies, the Six Nations, by whom they were generously adopted into that warlike confederacy.
But the greatest and the most renowned of all the New England sachems, was undoubtedly the great chief of the Pokanokets, called by the English, King Philip. He was the son of Massassoit, who ruled the Indians around Plymouth, where the Pilgrim Fathers first landed. He received them kindly, sold them a large tract of land for their settlement, and made a treaty of friendship with them, which lasted unbroken for about fifty years.
The good feeling, however, of the old sachem did not descend to his son Philip, who succeeded him. He saw that the English were gradually encroaching upon the grounds of his race, and that, unless their progress should soon be arrested, the red man would not have where to lay his head in the country of his forefathers. He resolved, therefore, to unite, if possible, all the Indians of New England, from the Penobscot to the Hudson, in one last great attempt to recover from their white invaders their ancient dominions. In a short time, by this artful manœuvre, he had gained over to his cause the warlike nation of the Narragansets, and all the tribes of Maine, for two hundred miles along the coast. But the Indians of New Hampshire, for the most part, kept aloof from the contest, and the Mohicans, under their sachem Uncas, remained ever faithful to the English.
The war between the colonies and the English, commonly called Philip’s War, broke out in the summer of 1675. The savage chief is said to have wept when he heard of the first outrage of the war. He called to mind the long, unbroken friendship, that for half a century had subsisted between the red man and the whites; and his stern heart relented, when he saw that it must now be broken, and forever. But it was too late to retreat. From that hour he never smiled; but his whole soul was bent upon the business before him.
At first, his success was tremendous; in a short time the country was in flames, from one end of the colonies to the other. Thirteen towns were entirely destroyed; seven hundred dwelling houses burnt; and as many Englishmen killed. There was not a family throughout New England, which did not mourn the loss of a relation. But his good fortune did not continue long; the colonies gathered all their strength to meet him; the Mohicans assailed him from the south; and the Mohawks on the north were his implacable enemies. He was defeated in several battles; his allies deserted him; his friends and relations were killed or made prisoners by the English; and he himself was hunted, like a spent deer by blood-hounds, from place to place. Still, even in his worst days, he would not think of peace; one of his attendants, who dared to propose it to him, he killed with his own hand. It was by the brother of the same man, that he was himself slain.
A few minutes before his death, he is said to have been telling his few remaining friends of his gloomy dreams, and urging them to leave him, and provide for their own safety. On a sudden, the swamp in which he lay concealed, was surrounded by the English, and in attempting to escape, he was shot.